


We Don't Do That Brony Shit

by Beezow_Doo_Doo_Zopittybop_Bop_Bop



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Accidental Pyromania, Bad Humor, Bob the Cripple, Excessive Use of Mayonnaise, Frank Rides a Bike, Frank is a Jerk, Humor, M/M, Shy Gerard Way, Slow Burn, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 01:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beezow_Doo_Doo_Zopittybop_Bop_Bop/pseuds/Beezow_Doo_Doo_Zopittybop_Bop_Bop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is an accidental pyromaniac with a penchant for taking pictures of unicorn lovers. Gerard's that weird emo kid who gets dragged to the Unicorns United meetings with his brother Mikey. The world's not ready for the chaos that ensues when they meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Do That Brony Shit

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying on the Frerard fandom- hope ya'll like it! Tell me what you guys think!

Frank wakes to the blearing of his alarm clock. He had it turned to the setting where it played the radio as an alarm, but he’d accidently fallen asleep listening to the rap station and now some guy was screaming about bitches and hoes. Not that Frank has any experience with those particular things.

Rising from the bed, Frank walks to the bathroom, scratching his ass as he goes. He pauses in the mirror and begins making muscle poses with his skinny arms. Yeah, he’s hot.

After getting ready for the day, he strolls into his kitchen (well, his mom’s kitchen) and begins making some Captain Crunch. He’s not exactly sure how, but he ends up burning it and instead just grabs a granola bar out of the pantry. This catches on fire, too, and Frank decides he’ll just skip breakfast for today. He should probably find his fire-retardant fingerless gloves, but whatever.

Even without breakfast, Frank can’t be angry. He’s too excited for the day ahead. During the entire week leading up to this day, he’d been unable to focus on anything and had ended up messing up everything he tried. His boss at the auto shop almost fired him when Frank accidently set a car on fire. Frank didn’t know why the guy had been so angry; the car’s owner _had_ said he wanted a flame paint job. Close enough, right?

But today. Oh, today. Frank feels his insides twist in anticipation. He is going to _hunt_.

Grabbing his bag, he dances around the house and shoves all of his supplies he’ll need for the hunt in. He’s so giddy that he starts maniacally giggling and shredding some air guitar riffs. His mom comes out of her bedroom, but immediately turns right back in when she catches sight of her son getting out his hunting supplies. She knows this isn’t a day to mess with him.

Frank runs out the door and jumps into his convertible. He falls to the ground. Oh yeah, he doesn’t have a convertible. Or a car. Frank jumps onto his bike. He’d had to steal it from the neighbor girl, so there is a pink basket attached to the front and the word “Joshy” printed on the side. Frank doesn’t really mind. Joshy always said to be yourself and the basket is really useful for carrying things in.

While furiously pumping his legs, Frank begins thinking of hunting techniques and how he’s going to go about infiltrating the library today. It’s a good thing his prey like to hang out in the library down the street from his house, because his legs are already starting to cramp from riding out of the driveway, but it also sucks because those shriveled up old book hags have it out for him and know him by name. But whatever. He has specific prey with specific needs, and he wants to find them in their natural habitat.

He pulls into the library’s parking lot and begins looking for a place to park. The lot is completely full, so when someone finally pulls out, Frank cuts another car off and zooms his pink bike in and parks in the center. Sure, it is kind of a jerk move to take up a whole parking spot with his small bike, but he doesn’t like those stupid bike racks. Someone could scratch the bike’s paintjob.

Walking into the Huntington Public Library is always an experience. Sometimes his prey are there and sometimes they have decided to flock elsewhere to conduct their meeting in secret. It is always a gamble, and Frank loves the anticipation of winning.

He’s halfway to his destination when a bony hand clamps on his shoulder and jerks him into a deserted aisle. “What do you think you’re doing here, Franklin?”

The crusty old librarian in front of him looks like she clawed her way out of the deepest tombs of hell and then threw on the most clichéd grandma smock she could find, complete with what looks like Nyan Cat shit all over the front. Rainbows. So many rainbows.

Frank’s mouth fights to turn down, but he puts on his most smarmy smile. He hates when people think his name’s Franklin. “Margaret! What a surprise! What are you doing here?”

“I work here, you little shit. Now get the fuck out.”

“Margaret!” He grabs his heart in mock horror, looking around in fear. “What would the children say if they heard you?”

“They’d probably thank me for getting your little bitch-ass out of here.” Her razor-sharp fingernails come up as if to scratch his face off. “Now get out of here before I call the fuckin’ cops again. You remember what happened last time.”

Frank shudders as he thinks back to the flashing lights and angry men with sticks. “Yeah, I remember.” His eyes flash up to hers, pleading. “But Margie, look. I gotta be in the library today! Can’t you just turn your head for a couple of minutes? Just for old time’s sake?”

Her unimpressed glare tells him that’ll he’ll have to resort to Plan B.

He sighs. “I didn’t want to have to do this, Margie.” He shoots out a hand and hits her in a pressure point, dropping her to the ground. He lets out a joyful “whoop.” His plan worked! He’s interrupted by Margaret clearing her throat. Oh yeah, he doesn’t actually know how to do that.

Okay. Plan C.

“Hey, is that kid talking in his outdoor voice?” He gestures to a point behind her and she whips around, ready to berate some unsuspecting child. As soon as she turns, he’s off, making his way deeper into the archive. Success.

Frank lets out a small huff of relief when he gets close to the Special Activities Room and sees his prey. A good herd of them, too; they must have added a member.

 _Oh yes_ , Frank thinks as he digs around in his hunting bag. _I’ve found the motherload_.

In the room, there’s a large banner proclaiming “Unicorns United: We Don’t Do that Brony Shit.” In the middle of the room are four guys sitting on the floor, all fawning over little unicorn figurines and their many accessories (sold separately, of course). He grins predatorily, watching their gleeful smiles as they make pony noises, galloping their unicorn figurines around the floor.

It’s Wednesday, meaning it’s the one day of the week that the club Unicorns United meets in the library to play with their figurines and discuss possible unicorn sightings around town. Frank never misses a meeting, though he’s not particularly interested in unicorns.

One member in particular catches his eye. He has slicked-down dark hair and a pair of wide-frame glasses. A beanie that looks like it has seen better days covers his greasy hair, and the smile he wears as he makes his unicorn hop a fence looks out of place on his stern features. He’s just a kid, probably slightly younger than Frank, but he’s perfect for what Frank has in mind.

Frank creeps closer, ready to start his work. He is almost in the room when he strikes. _FLASH._

Frank smiles at his camera. Beanie Guy looks even better on film.

Beanie Guy turns to his friend on the right. “Hey Pete, you still got those purple sparkle extensions?”

Pete, another pony lover with a horrible dye job, smiles. “Sure thing! Here ya go.”

 _Yes_ , Frank thinks. _Accessorize…_

The first kid continues to prance his unicorn around, making it graze across upon grass and ride Rainbow Bridge Road to Fluffy Cloud Island. “Yo, G,” he says suddenly. “Why you looking so down?”

Frank notices another boy behind the group. He’s dressed head to toe in black, with inky, jet black hair to complete the look. His knees are pulled to his chest on the chair and he’s staring dejectedly at what looks to be a sketch pad held in front of him. Frank quickly becomes disenchanted with the boy. He’s not what he’s here for.

“Nothin’, Mikey. Just feelin’ kinda down, I guess.”

Beanie Guy/Mikey just shrugs, turning his attention back to his other friends. “Okay.”

Frank continues taking his pictures, getting in some pretty good uni-horn shots off that Pete kid. He looks down at the booty on the camera and thinks he has enough pictures for now. He decides to reward himself with a book about puppies from the kids’ section, but it catches on fire as soon as he touches it. Damn, he needs to find those gloves.

Leaving the book on the floor, he casually walks out the door, screams coming from inside the library. He’s just un-lodging the kickstand when a voice startles him from his thoughts.

“Hey! Hey you! Creep with the camera!”

Frank starts. He’s never been caught before. He turns to find the weird emo kid behind him, sneering.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Why were you taking pictures of my friends’ unicorns?” The boy looks slightly afraid of Frank, but he’s doing a pretty good job posturing. He also looks uncomfortable saying the word unicorn.

A slow smile spreads across Frank’s face. “G, right?”

The boy blushes and says, “Only my friends call me that. It’s Gerard to you.”

Frank rolls his eyes. He has better things to do. “You’re boring.” He has only just rolled to the end of the parking spot before Gerard shoves a foot under his wheel, stopping him.

The kid looks terrified, but he demands, “Why were you taking pictures? Yeah, the unicorn thing is kind of weird, but the guys in Unicorns United are still people. Don’t think that you can just make fun of them and get away with it.”

Frank just rolls over the foot, causing the kid to fall to the ground clutching his foot, and then speeds out of the parking lot. He doesn’t spare the kid another thought as he cruises through the streets, thinking of the catch he’d made that day.


End file.
